The First Ninety Days Ch. 12

After a rapid shower each, they ate lunch and then began to debate the finer points of dress and decor. Caitlyn wasn't any meaningful part of the festivities, and the bride had forgotten to pass on the color scheme, so she eventually settled on a nice winter dress—something dark enough to be formal and not take attention away from the bridal party, but not so dark as to be somber. Meanwhile, Jon got the harp shrouded and onto its wheels, took it down the elevator (a fair detour, but wiser in his opinion than trying any stairs), and then opened up the back gate and the back window on the the cap. The truck was a dark maroon, the fiberglass cap tan, both of them sensible colors; after some deliberation and driving it around a little, Caitlyn had named it Leroy—or rather,LeRoi, with the French accent, meaning "The King." Jon had taken to calling it by the American pronunciation, when he wasn't calling it Mr. Jenkins and ignoring the weird looks Caitlyn gave him. Hewasn't going to go around giving his truck a fancified foreign name.

The harp weighed eighty pounds. Jon knew he could lift that much, but it was still a hell of a strain to get it up onto the lip of the bed. Besides, this wasn't some piece of durable hardware he could just sling in and let fall down; the harp's descent needed to becontrolled. By the time he got the thing safely ensconced in the back of the truck, his muscles were burning and he was sweating all over, despite the snow still on the ground.God, I gotta take another shower, don't I.

"Where areyou going," Caitlyn asked when he started stripping off his clothes. And then: "Jon, you did ityourself?? You should've waited for me, I would've helped you!"

"In your clean fancy clothes like that?" Jon said.

Caitlyn was pinning some clip-on earrings to herself—she didn't have any piercings, which was something he liked about her—but she nodded vigorously nonetheless. "Yes, even in these. Oh, cripes, did you get it in okay? Did you damage it?"

"Of course not," Jon said, "I'm notthat incompetent."

"Honey, that thing'sheavy." She hugged him roughly, heedless of his nakedness. "Next time, wait for me, okay?"

Jon relented and let his arms fall around her. "Okay."

When he released her, she rubbed the side of her face, which was now wet with his sweat. "Great. I gotta wash my face again. And redo my makeup..."

"See, that was the other reason," Jon said, stepping into the shower and closing the door. At least he could just do a quick soap-and-rinse and be out in five minutes.

"Well... Next time we'll have to get the harp inbefore we start getting dressed. Heck, maybe before we take a shower."

"Hon, we took a shower because we were both reeking of sex and I had cum all over my stomach. We couldn't've very well gone outside like that."

"Darn. You're right. Man. When did life get socomplicated?"

"Umm... December 10th, I think." The day they'd gotten married, in other words.

"Ha-ha," said Caitlyn from outside the shower. "Say more stuff like that and you'll be sleeping on the couch tonight."

For Jon, this was a new experience of a wedding. He hadn't been to all that many in his life: one with his cousin getting married, and then the Cranes' last summer and the Chamberses the year before that; and then of course his own, not even two months ago. At those he had been a part of the congregation: one of the happy people assembled to bear witness to the joining of two people in love and commitment; once he hadbeen one of those people. Today he was a nobody, one of the few administrative elements helping to keep things running smoothly. He didn't know any of these people, didn't understand why everyone was laughing, didn't know what to look for when people began to walk down the aisles. He was an outsider here, completely unconnected from the sacrament going on in front of him; he didn't even have the benefit of Caitlyn's company, as she was up front with the harp while a place was found for him in the back. In fact, the only thing he recognized was the processional music: the timelessCantique de Jean Racine by Gabriel Faure.No wonder they were looking for a harpist; most of the time they have to make do with a pianist or something.

To his admittedly-critical ear, the assembled choristers weren't the best, but they held their own; in fact, they sounded rather better than Jon would've expected from such a small group. The bride was Caitlyn's classmate from Shellview State's Music department; perhaps she had hand-picked this group herself. If so, what mattered was to hear them singing, whether or not they did it well or just competently.

They saved a different song for the bride's procession: Caitlyn dueting with a flute. He couldn't remember the name of the song off the top of his head, but everybody knew it (from Caitlyn's sheet music he would later discover that it was the Meditation from Jules Massenet'sThaïs). It was just as well that no one was singing: he remembered seeing his own bride, his beloved and beautiful Caitlyn, descending to the altar to meet him, and thought that nobody could sing, at least not well, during this particular moment. There was a particular apex of beauty which a woman achieves only once—on her wedding day; no one, not even a complete outsider like Jon, could help but respond to it. And yet the sight of this radiant stranger walking down the aisle served only to heighten his own sense of isolation; where washis bride, his beauty, the light of his life? What was he doing here, alone, deprived even of that one person who was everything to him?

Caitlyn wasn't needed for the rest of the ceremony, so when she was finished playing she excused herself silently and came back to sit with him; and, as though sensing his mood, she tucked herself under his arm and laid her head on his shoulder. That was good. But somehow it wasn't enough.

Once the service was over and the bride officially kissed, the congregation began to break up, heading off to the reception at a nearby hotel while the wedding party lined up in various combinations for photos and so forth. This was, Caitlyn indicated, the proper time for them to sneak the harp out and bus it over to the reception, where Caitlyn would play until the newlyweds showed up, at which point Caitlyn was done and could go home or stay for a free dinner at her discretion. Working together, the Stanfords got the harp into the reception hall without too much trouble; Caitlyn was right, it was much easier with her help. Nonetheless, Jon remembered her father doing it all singlehandedly, and resolved that he would like to be able to do the same. There was a certain pride, and a certain masculinity, that he felt obligated to uphold.

Caitlyn chattered on about the things she was seeing at this wedding and its reception, and the ideas she was getting for their own shindig. "Do you realize we only have five weeks left before it happens? Things are mostly in shape—the photographer is coming, the food's set up, the hall is rented, they got the flowers figured out, and I talked to some friends about the musical side of it—did you ask Octapella if they wanted to sing? Heck, did you ask them if they wanted tocome? 'cause they're totally invited. Anyway, I think things are in good shape, but I just love the things they did with the flowers here. I mean, it's a sit-down dinner..."

Jon was thinking about dollar signs. "How much would that add in terms of cost?"

"Oh, gosh, I dunno. Maybe... Seven or eight hundred?"

Jon winced.In other words, double or triple what we're making here tonight—and frankly, we're getting overpaid for being here. "Caitlyn, I'm not sure that kind of expenditure is... really that wise. Especially in light of how much money we've been spending recently. I mean, we just bought atruck, for heaven's sake."

"I thought that was an investment," she said, her voice cool. "So that I could do gigs."

"Well, yes, but only kind of," he said, "because cars depreciate. It's more an expense. Besides, you've only playedone gig so far. We'll have to go to, like, twenty more before we even break even."

"That's true," she said, though it was clear from her voice she didn't like it. Then she gave a sigh and put her smile back on. "Oh, well. A girl can dream."

He did his best to be polite and even social throughout the event, but either he didn't do as good a job as intended, or Caitlyn knew him better than he'd thought, because as they were driving home, the squares of other cars' headlights shifting across the ceiling and the wheels thrumming under them, she laid her hand on his arm and asked, "What's on your mind?"

Jon shook his head. "Nothing. Nothing worth mentioning. I just... It was weird."

She nodded. "Itis weird. I was watching Marissa come up the aisle and it was like... 'The last time I was at one of these things, that wasme.' Before, I never even flickered an eyelid at weddings, but I think it may be different now."

"Makes you think, doesn't it."

"Yeah. Marissa's like 28. Her husband is 30. And here I'm..." She gave a helpless shrug. "Makes you wonder. How do people get to where they are. What weird tricks of fate or God or coincidence brings you here, and them there."

"Well, if you want to know thespecifics..." Jon said. "Maybe it just took her longer to find the guy of her dreams."

"And maybe she didn't have parental lurking to force her to jump into bed with him early," Caitlyn said.

"As for us..." Jon said, ignoring her comment and the can of worms it implied. "We met each other, and were smart enough to give each other a chance. And plus we weren't... We didn't have that whole mindset of, you know, 'I don't want to be tied down, I want to just go out and live life and do crazy things.' We were ready to settle down."

"That's true," she said. "We didn't hesitate about... Going for what we saw. Can you imagine what might've happened if one of us was like, 'Yeah, it's nice, but I don't want to get serious'?"

"We sure wouldn't behere, let me tell you that."

"Yeah." Her hand tightened on his arm. "I can't imagine what that'd be like. I don't evenwant to imagine what it'd be like. To not have everything we have... To not be... Here. With you. In this car, doing this thing. Doing everything we do."

"Dinner.

"School."

"Laundry."

"Dish-washing.

"Gigs."

"Work."

"Sex."

"Yes, definitely. I just... The last time I played a wedding was... Actually, it was the day before ours, come to think of it. But I'd been doing them since I was, like, twelve. And... I just remember being there, playing these songs and watching all these beautiful brides coming up the aisle, and thinking... 'How am I ever gonna get that. I wanna be the one in the beautiful dress. I wanna be the center of attention. And for that... I need a husband.' And I would shake my head and think, 'Likethat's ever gonna happen.' I was twelve, I was home-schooled, I didn't know anybody, I'd never had a crush on anyone or had anyone have one on me... I thought I'd be stuck where I was. With my family. For the rest of my life."

Jon reached up to grab her hand with his own.

"And, I mean, this was before sex. Like I knew what that was. Mom didn't say a thing about where babies came from, I learned that from... Jeez, who'd I learn that from? One of the other home-school kids.His mom told him. And I asked Nathan and he was completely surprised, like, 'You're kidding, what are you talking about? Mom always talked about the stork.' And then when we asked Mom... Huh. Boy,that was a mess."

"I can imagine."

"We didn't tell her who told us. Nate lied, and I just followed his lead. So Mom never knew."

"How old were you?"

"Like... Eight."

"Wow. That might be kind of young.I didn't know until I was ten. I learned it from school, my parents didn't tell me either. ...Well, I mean, I knew about the pregnancy stuff, but they always glossed overhow the sperm got there."

"We got the whole kit and caboodle. And yeah, it was a little young for me, I didn't get it. But Nathan was twelve. I bet it was a little different for him."

"Probably."

"Anyway, I was just... I mean, I'd be fourteen, sixteen years old, watching this bride come up the aisle, and thinking, 'She's going to be with her husband. They're going to know each other Biblically.' And, the thought didn't really have any appeal to me, you know? It was just... It was a fact of life. I knew if I wanted to have kids, I'd have to do it, but I didn't think it was anything special. Especially because I didn't think it was ever gonnahappen.

"And then you came along." Her hand squeezed his. "You came along, and suddenly... I had hope. I had hope again, and I could... I could keep going. I could play those weddings and watch these brides walk down the aisle and think, 'That could be me. For the first time in my life, there is an actual chance that, one day... That could be me.' "

They had decided not to get an extra-long cab with a back seat, but had compromised by going for a truck with no center console, so that three could sit on the front bench. Caitlyn slid across it now to wrap herself around his arm; Jon gave her a little of that before tucking it around her, drawing her in.

He saw the whole thing in a new light now. Playing those weddings, every time—Caitlyn had longed to be that woman. And, with every gig, the dream had grown, as she collected each little tidbit and idea and added it to the fantasy in her heart. Ofcourse she had plenty of ideas for what the reception should be like; in her place, so would she. And here he was, being all frugal and telling her to tone it down—when, for that matter, he had almost denied her her dream in the first place: sure, she was married, and (please God) happily so, but all the pomp and circumstance had been rushed or even dismissed in the chaos. What was supposed to be the happiest day of a woman's life, and they had blundered into it with barely a few hours' notice.

It was her dream, and she had given it up to be with him.

"Caitlyn... I'm sorry for being... Stingy. About it. I mean, I know you're the accountant, I know you've been doing this for ages—I'm sure you know what you're doing, and how to do it cheaply. I just... I can't help..."

"Toting up the dollar signs," Caitlyn said. "And you're right, I probablyam kind of... Cavalier about spending money on it. It's just... This ismy day, Jon. I want it to be..."

"I know, and itshould be. It should be perfect. That's what my baby deserves." His arm tightened around her. "So... Next time I complain, you remind me of that."

"Okay." She snuggled against him. "And next time I go crazy, you keep being the voice of reason. It works out well that way."

Silence for a time.

"Don't forget to buckle," Jon said finally.

She rolled her eyes. "You're not going to crash."

"Hopefully not, because I have the most important thing in the world in here with me," Jon said, "as well as the thing that's most important toher." He tossed his head to indicate the harp in the back. "But, on the off-chance that somethingdoes happen, I want to make sure both those thingssurvive. I mean, how do you think I'd feel if I let you put yourself in a position to be turned into paste on the backside of the windshield?"

Caitlyn rolled her eyes again: "Oh, baby, thatreally turns me on." But she did buckle her seatbelt, so Jon called it a victory.

"So..." she said. "Babies."

Jon felt himself jump a little involuntarily. "What about them?"

"Well, we're going to have them one day, aren't we?"

"I... Presume so. Seeing as both of our stated goals are to be good parents. That kind of requires baby-having."

"You're going to be such a good father," Caitlyn said, smiling. "I can just see it now."

"I'd rathernot see it now," Jon replied. "We have like no money in our bank account. We'd be just as screwed as Brandon and Meredith."

"They're doing okay."

"They've gotten really lucky. We might not."

"We could ask your parents for help. We could askmy parents for help."

"Let's not. They would probably impose, like, restrictions and requirements on us. Like, we'd have to take the kids to Sunday school every week or something."

"What's wrong with that?" Caitlyn protested.

Jon grimaced. A fine timethis was to leave his tongue unguarded. "Nothing. Forget I said anything."

"No, tell me, Jon," Caitlyn said, louder this time. "What's wrong with that?" Clearly, his reassurances had been less than reassuring.

"Nothing's wrong with Sunday school, Caitlyn," Jon said. "Because, God only knows, we shouldtotally let your parents encourage their grandkids to turn out exactly like them."

"There isnothing wrong with Sunday school, Jon," Caitlyn ground out. "It's true that Christians make mistakes, but I challenge you to find people ofany creed who are perfect. And there are still good things to be learned. Like loving your neighbor. And being content with your current circumstances."

It was an implicit criticism of his impatience for sex throughout their courtship, and it made him angry. "And deciding that if you try hard enough, you can force other people to be someone they're not?"

"You just don't get over that, do you," Caitlyn said.

"No, Caitlyn, I don't. It's an extremely dangerous mindset. It's selfish like no one's business, and it describes spiritual maiming as justified as long as it achieves theattacker's goals."

"Jon, my parents wanted me to change certain things about themselves. So do you. So doI. Weall agree that I'm not perfect. It's like surgery to remove something unneeded or unnecessary."

"Yes, but they don't agree that you have any right to decidefor yourself what should change. You and I perform surgery.They use an axe."

"Our kids aren't going to learn that."

"Are they?"

"Who would teach them?"

"Your parents, for one. And maybeus, if we're not careful."

"Then it gets learned," Caitlyn said.

Jon was appalled. "So. Basically. You're saying that it's okay for us to screw our kids up the same waywe were screwed up by our parents."

"Jon, we didn't get 'screwed up.' We turned out okay."

"Yeah, you know who else says that? Abusive parents. The first time they lay hands on their child. And maybe every time thereafter. 'My folks did it to me, andI turned out okay.'No you bloody well didn't. Caitlyn,you're screwed up. So am I. So are your folks, so aremy folks, so's just about everyone we know. Some way, somehow, we were all screwed up by our parents. And if we, you and I, are really serious aboutnot screwing upour kids in turn, the first step is admitting that weare screwed-up, and that we need to not just blindly repeat what our parents did."

"Well, fine, we're screwed up," Caitlyn said. "You're absolutely right that we need to be careful, and that we can't just do it carelessly. But that doesn't mean the church is out, Jon. Christianity isn't about screwing up your kids—if anything, it's the best example we have fornot screwing them up."

"Every parent I've known who messed their kids up this way," Jon said, "has called themselves Christian."

"So? Every one of them wasalive too, weren't they? Isn't it you Psych majors who say that 'correlation does not prove causation'? They may appear together, but that doesn't mean one causes the other; it could be just coincidence."